I've flung my line, and yonder pair of hooks
Are aptly baited to ensure me one;

But compromised I am not,—no, nor will be,
Till it be seen if yet my suit may thrive
With yon fair frozen dew-drop, all that's left
To represent Van Merestyn's hot blood.

Aeswyn. 'Tis said she is but backwardly inclined
To any of her swains.

Оссо.
Such wealth as hers
Makes a maid whimsical and hard to please.
She that can have her will, be what it may,
Is much to seek to settle what it shall be.
The damsel must be tried; for if she yield,
The charier must I be, whilst times permit,
Of the good town's goodwill. Her lands lie all
Within the Franc of Ghent.

Send Berckel to her,

And bid him say I wait upon her leisure.

SCENE II.-The House Van Merestyn.

ADRIANA VAN MERESTYN, and CLARA VAN ARTEVELDE.

Clara. I do not bid thee take him or refuse him; I only say, think twice. Adriana.

But once to think,

When the heart knows itself, is once too much.

Clara. Well; answer what you will; no, yes—yes, no; Either or both; I would the chance were mine;

I say no more; I would it were my lot

To have a lover.

Adriana.

Yours? why there's Sir Walter. Clara. Sir Walter? very good; but he's at Bruges. I want one here.

Adriana.

On days of truce he comes.

Clara. I want one every day. Besides, the war Will never slacken now; a truce to truces.

And though on moonless, cloud-encompass'd nights, He will, in his discretion, truce or none,

Hazard a trip, yet should he be discover'd,

Mild Van den Bosch would pat him on the head,

And then he'd come no more. But ponder well
What you shall say; for if it must be 'no'
In substance, you shall hardly find that form
Which shall convey it pleasantly.

Adriana.

In truth,

say!

To mould denial to a pleasing shape
In all things, and most specially in love,
Is a hard task; alas! I have not wit
From such a sharp and waspish word as 'no'
To pluck the sting.
What think you I should
Clara. A colourable thing or two; as thus:
My lord, we women swim not with our hearts,
Nor yet our judgments, but the world's opinions;
And though I prize you dearly in my soul
And think you of all excellence compounded,
Yet 'tis a serious and unhappy thing
To hear you spoken of: for men protest
That you are cruel, cowardly, and cold,
Boastful, malicious, envious, spiteful, false;
A bull in ire, an ape in jealousy,

A wolf in greediness for blood.
Adriana.

No more?

Am I to use no courtesies but these?

?

Clara. No more? Yes, plentifully more! where was I?

This for your mind's repute. Then for your person, (Which for my own particular I love,)

'Tis said that you are strangely ill to look at ;
Your brow as bleak as winter, with a fringe
Of wither'd grass for hair, your nose oblique,
Pointing and slanting like a dial's hand;
They say the fish you had your eyes of laugh'd
To see how they were set, and that
your
mouth
Grows daily wider, bandying of big words:
All which imaginations, good my lord,
Grossly as they may counterfeit defect
Where worth abounds, are yet so noised abroad
That in despite of that so high esteem

In which I hold you, I'm constrained to say
I'd sooner wed your scullion than yourself.
Adriana. Thanks for your counsel; cunning is the
maid

That can convert a lover to a friend,

And you
have imp'd me with a new device.
But look! Is this-no, 'tis your brother's page.
Clara. All hail to him! he is my daily sport.
Of all things under heaven that make me merry,
It makes me merriest to see a boy

That wants to be a man.

Adriana.

His want fulfill'd,

He will not be the worse; 'tis well for them

That have no faults but what they needs must leave. Clara. Are my faults of that grain? What are my faults?

Adriana. Perchance I err in thinking that I know, But grant I know and err not, 'twere not wise To tell you. Many will beseech their friends To tell them of their faults, which being told, They ne'er forgive the tellers. And besides I've heard you oft confess them.

Clara.

Well, I own

There's a main difference betwixt faults confess'd

And faults arraign'd. We tell ourselves our faults,
And at ourselves ourselves take no offence,
For we are well assured we mean no harm;

But should my friend accuse me of the like,

Though I had charged him to be blunt and frank,
I seize him by the throat.

Enter the Page.

How now, Sir Henry!

'Twas you I dreamt of; whither away, brave knight? Page. I'm coming but to pay my duty here;

The Lady Adriana lets me come.
Clara. I wish thy master knew it.
Page.

He tells me to come too.

So he does;

Clara.

Hath he no eyes?

Page.

Alas, poor man!

What mean you, Mistress Clara? Clara. Why, when our pages steal away our loves, Tell gardeners to keep blackbirds. Look you hereSeest thou this drooping melancholy maid;

What hast thou done?

Page.

Who, I? it was not I.

Clara. Who was it then? Well-' kissing goes by favour'

So saith the proverb; truly, more's the pity!
Yet I commend your prudence, Adriana,
For favouring in place of men and monsters
This pure and pretty child. I'll learn from you;
And if, when I have kiss'd my pug and parrot,
I have the matter of a mouthful left,

For fear of waste that's worse I'll spend them here.
Page. I would advise you to be more discreet.
Clara. Soho! and wherefore? Oh! so old you are!
Full fifteen summers elder than your beard,

And that was born last week-before its time.

I told you, Adriana, did I not,

Of the untimely birth? It chanced o' Wednesday,
By reason of a fright he gave his chin,

Making its innocent down to stand on end

With brandishing of a most superfluous razor.

Adriana. You told me no such tale; and if you had,

I should not have believed you; for your tongue
Was ever nimbler in the track of sport

Than fits for hunting in a leash with truth.
Heed her not, Henry, she is full of slanders.

Clara. Ay, no one marks me. I but jest and lie,
And so must go unheeded. Honest times!
Slanders and jests have lost the ear o' the World!
But do I slander him to say he's young?

Page. I am almost as old as you.
Clara.

I grant thee;

But we are women when boys are but boys.
God gives us grace to ripen and grow wise
Some six years earlier. I thank Heaven for it;
the sunny side o' the wall.

We grow upon

Page. Methinks your wisdom grows o' the windy side, And bears but little fruit.

Clara.

What! malapert!

It bears more fruit than thou hast wit to steal,
Or stomach to digest. Were I thy tutor,
To teach thee wisdom, and beheld such store
Of goodly fruitage, I should say to thee,

Rob me this orchard.' Then wouldst thou reply,
Five feet three inches stand I in my shoes,

And yet I cannot reach to pluck these plums,
So loftily they flourish!' God ha' mercy,
Here comes the knight upon an ambling nag.
Now, Adriana !

I am sore perplex'd.

Adriana.
What shall I say?

Clara.

My counsel you have heard,

And partly slighted, wherefore seek to better;
Take we direction from our full-grown friend.
Henry, a knight will presently be here

To ask our Adriana's hand in marriage:
What shall she answer?

Page.

Let her say 'My lord,

You are the flower of Flemish chivalry,

But I have vow'd to live and die a maid.'

Clara. A goodly vow! God give her grace to make it,

If it be not too troublesome to keep.

But he's no more the flower of Flemish knights,
Than thou the pearl of pages. Adriana,

Bethink you of your answer and be ready,

Lest he surprise you and you speak the truth.

Adriana. Prithee, what truth? There's nothing to

be hidden.

Clara. Except, except-yes, turn your face away, That so informs against you.

Here he comes.